Harry Potter and the Legacy of Slytherin
by ayslin
Summary: As Voldemort takes his final steps towards immortality, Harry Potter knows it will take more than luck to destroy the four remaining Horcruxes. Post HBP, WIP
1. Chapter 1

As Voldemort takes his final steps towards immortality, Harry Potter knows it will take more than luck to destroy the four remaining Horcruxes. But with the odds stacked against him, will he succeed before the prophesy comes to pass?

Disclaimer: I neither own nor pretend to own Harry Potter.

A/N: Much thanks to my betas. Mithrilxmoon, PadfootzChick, and Princess Cici are all wonderful and their input fantastic. Special thanks to irisgirl for not only betaing, but for her hours spent planning and plotting. I don't know where this fic would be without her.

This is a POST-HBP fic - Spoilers abound.

_Harry Potter and the Legacy of Slytherin_

For the Dursleys of Number Four Privet Drive, summer had never been the most pleasant of seasons. They much preferred the cold, snowy days of winter and, as June loomed near, they generally longed for the wet, miserable days of spring. Indeed, this summer was to be no exception. In fact, it seemed to the Dursleys it would be far worse, as Harry Potter, in addition to surviving another year at his horrible school, had not only returned _early,_ but brought two of his _friends _back to stay as well.

"What's the meaning of this, boy?" Vernon Dursley roared, his great, lumpy face purple with rage. "As if you're not enough – there will be no more of your kind under my roof! Do you hear me?"

"I hear you," Harry muttered, checking the straps that secured Hedwig's cage to his trunk. "Believe me, we won't be staying under your roof for very long.

"You ready?" Harry asked, looking back at Ron and Hermione who had thought it wise to stay a good distance away from Uncle Vernon and remained close to the Platform entrance.

"Now, see here!" Uncle Vernon's meaty hand wrapped around Harry's arm and yanked. "I will not have any more," his voice lowered to a hissed whisper for the next word, "_freaks_ inside my home." The vein in Uncle Vernon's forehead throbbed as he spoke and his thick fingers tightened around Harry. "Understand?" Harry's glasses bounced to the tip of his nose as Uncle Vernon gave him a sound shake.

"Let him go!"

"Ron!"

Hermione acted quickly, snatching Ron's hand and pulling it down to his side, but not before Uncle Vernon caught a glimpse of what Ron had brandished. A bit of the color drained from Uncle Vernon's face, giving him an odd scarlet hue. Still, he barked a gruff laugh. "You can't do - do that outside of that school of yours. You'd be expelled."

"I can't do it," Harry grunted, finally managing to pry himself free, "but they can."

Uncle Vernon's narrowed eyes darted from Harry to the other two as his face blanched to magenta. "No," he sputtered. "I've seen the letters they've sent you! Just off the train and already-"

"Harry's telling you the truth, sir," Hermione broke in with a tentative step towards Uncle Vernon. "Ron and I are of age. We can do…" But her voice trailed off as little beads of sweat sprung up on top of Uncle Vernon's throbbing vein.

Uncle Vernon stared at Hermione for a moment, his mouth hanging open dumbly. Then, with something between a growl and a keen, he turned on his heel and stormed through the crowded station out to the parking lot.

Harry glanced at his friends. Ron was glaring daggers at Uncle Vernon's large back, while Hermione's eyes were so wide Harry wondered if they wouldn't fall out of their sockets.

With a shrug as if to say 'You wanted to come with me,' Harry grasped the handle of his luggage trolley and grinned. "He took that better than I expected." Hedwig hooted in agreement.

The car ride back to Number Four Privet Drive was uncomfortable, to say the least. Hermione had discretely shrunk the three trunks to fit them all nicely into the boot, and when no owl had swooped down informing her of her expulsion and no men in funny cloaks had popped up to snap her…stick, Uncle Vernon's face had twisted furiously. His eye twitching, he had swung open his car door, thrown himself inside and jammed the key into the ignition without a word about it.

Smirking, Ron tried to cast a spell not long after they had left the station, but Hermione was faster. With a wordless _Accio_, she took Ron's wand and sat on it for the rest of the trip. Ron refused to speak until Hermione returned his wand, and she refused to return his wand until they were out of the car, so Harry, not wanting to get pulled into their argument, ignored them both for most of the ride.

When they arrived at Number Four, something was missing. Rather, _someone. _Dudley was nowhere to be seen, and, Harry thought maliciously, unless he had lost the weight of a baby elephant, it wasn't as though you could miss him. "Still at school, I suspect," Harry answered when Ron asked, then got Ron, who had just reclaimed his wand, to float their trunks up the stairs because Hermione had refused.

Aunt Petunia was just coming out of Dudley's bedroom when Harry, Ron and Hermione – and their floating trunks – reached the top of the staircase.

"What. Are. You. _Doing?_" she shrieked, beady eyes darting between the unfamiliar faces and the levitating trunks as she backed against the wall. "Vernon!" Ron winced at the pitch of her voice. "Vernon! Get up here!"

Hastily, at Aunt Petunia's screams, Ron guided the trunks to the floor. Hermione glared at him and Harry both for causing the trouble.

Uncle Vernon came lumbering up the steps behind them, panting with the effort. "Petunia, darling," he gasped, wiping a hand across his forehead, "he's brought back a few…guests."

Aunt Petunia's eyes flickered to the wand that Ron still had in his hand. "Guests?" she asked sharply, squinting at Harry. She looked once more at Ron's wand and at the trunks now sitting peacefully on the floor. "How long?"

"One day. Then we'll be gone." Harry answered, smiling at the thought.

Aunt Petunia's eyes lit up at her nephew's use of 'we' but her lips puckered sourly. She said briskly, pointing at Ron, "He'll stay in your room."

She sniffed, looking Hermione up and down. "I'll make up the guest bedroom for her," she said, the thought of Hermione sleeping on her good guest linens clearly repulsive.

But Harry was satisfied. He picked up Hedwig in her cage, dragged his trunk past his aunt – who was still pressed up against the wall – and opened the door to his room. Hermione and Ron followed him silently, but shared a look when they spotted the locks and bolts fixed to Harry's door.

"They haven't changed much, have they?" Ron said, as soon as the door was shut.

"Oh, I dunno," Harry said. "I think Uncle Vernon might be balding."

Ron dropped to his knees, unlatched the lid of his trunk and peered within. "Too bad that cousin of yours isn't around." His voice was muffled as he stuck his head into the trunk. "When I told Fred and George we were coming here, they – " but he was drowned out by crash which sounded oddly like pots and pans clanging. "Yes! Here it is!"

Grinning, he pulled himself out, his hair now messier than Harry's. "They gave me a few free samples," he said, holding out a tin filled with what appeared to be colorfully wrapped sweets of various sizes.

Hermione's eyes narrowed at the box. Before Ron or Harry could stop her, she had snatched it away and was holding it tightly to her chest.

"Hermione!" Ron cried.

"Firstly," Hermione scolded, opening her trunk enough to slip the box in, slamming the lid shut, and sitting on top of it for good measure, "you can't be sureanything your brothers make is safe for _wizards _let alone Muggles. And secondly-"

"Why would we give him something _safe_?" Ron muttered with a frown..

"And _secondly_," ignoring Ron, she repeated herself much more loudly, "Harry's cousin isn't here, so you don't need them, do you?"

"Aw, come off it, Hermione," moaned Ron. He flopped down on Harry's small bed. "You know his aunt and uncle deserve a Wizard Wheeze just as much!"

But Hermione would not be swayed. "No," she said firmly. Hermione tapped her wand to her trunk and its locks flew closed with a _snap,_ ending the conversation.

The three friends spent the next few hours occupying themselves in Harry's cramped room. Ron brought out his wizard chessboard and set it on the floor along side Harry's bed, and Hermione curled up to read on top of the sheets, Crookshanks purring beside her.

Sometime after Harry's third spectacular loss, there came a hard pounding on the door. "Potter!" Uncle Vernon hollered from the other side. "I'm coming in!" he warned, presumably so that they would stop turning pencils into pelicans or whatever other freakish things they were doing.

There were several metallic clicks ("As if we couldn't get out if we wanted!" Hermione whispered furiously) before the door opened slowly, revealing just Uncle Vernon's round face and bushy mustache.

His eyes didn't move from Harry when he spoke and he was careful to keep the door less than half open. "Petunia and I are going out for dinner," he said gruffly. "We've called Mrs. Figg and you're to go over there until we get back."

"Sure," Harry replied. It wasn't like he had been looking forward to dinner with the Dursleys, anyway.

"We're leaving now," Uncle Vernon said and he slammed the door shut. One of the bolts gave a dull snap as it was shoved into place, only to click back open a moment later when Uncle Vernon remembered that he wanted Harry out of his room, not in.

Harry opened the window so that Hedwig and Pig – Ron, up until that point, had kept his twittering owl in its cage – could catch themselves a nice dinner of mice and frogs. Although Harry was sure Mrs. Figg wouldn't mind if Crookshanks came along ("I doubt she'd notice ten extra cats, let alone one.") Hermione set two small bowls on the floor, one filled with water and one filled with what smelled like something only Hagrid would find delicious.

Aunt Petunia rapped sharply on the door just as Harry, Ron and Hermione were about to come out and shrilly ordered them to leave everything – _everything_ – in the room and get downstairs that instant. Rolling his eyes, Harry shoved his wand into the waistband of his trousers. Ron followed suit and Hermione slid hers up her sleeve before all three of them clambered out of Harry's room and down the stairs.

Once outside, with all the entrances to the house safely locked behind them, they took the short walk down the street and around the corner to Mrs. Figg's.

"Horrible Muggles," Mrs. Figg huffed in greeting as she opened her door, using a foot to shove two of her cats back inside. "No seventeen-year old needs a nanny minding his every move."

"It's not so bad," Harry replied, picking his way over Mr. Tibbles. "Much better than a night with them, anyway."

Not hearing the familiar sound of a company car speeding away, Mrs. Figg stuck her head outside. "And they let you walk here? _Alone?_" she shrieked. "After all they've been told!"

"I know," Harry said loudly enough so that Mrs. Figg would hear him over her own voice, "but we're fine. Nothing happened."

"That's not the point!" she cried, but Harry's observation did seem to calm her a bit.

"Well," she said a few moments later, forcing herself onto a less infuriating subject, "at least I can give you a proper meal now. What would you like, dears? I've a bit of stew made."

The stew, Harry decided as he ate, was by far the best tasting thing he had ever eaten at Mrs. Figg's house. But he held that opinion only until dessert. Mrs. Figg served a lovely, thickly frosted, three-layered chocolate cake that wasn't the least bit stale.

After dinner, Mrs. Figg brought out a very old, very battered set of Gobstones for their amusement. It was so old and battered, however, that some of the charms on the pieces seemed to be wearing off, and it wasn't uncommon for either Ron or Harry to be squirted with a foul-smelling liquid whenever a Gobstone felt the urge. Hermione decided against playing and had instead engaged Mrs. Figg in a particularly riveting conversation about knitting needles.

Everyone was so occupied with what they were doing that no one noticed when the quiet fireplace flared to life, burned brightly for a moment, then extinguished itself. They would have missed it the second time as well had one of the cats not yowled to alert them.

"Wait!" Mrs. Figg yelled across the room, pushing herself up off the sofa. "Wait! I'm here!"

Dashing over to the hearth, her tartan slipper slapping against her heels, Mrs. Figg knelt down heavily. "Hello?" she called into the small bit of flame that remained. "Oh, for Merlin's sake. HELLO?"

Suddenly, the fire expanded, growing large enough to illuminate the entire room, and a face appeared within. "I hear you, Ari. No need to shout." A beard sprouted down from the man's chin and his head was covered in grey hair so long that the end of it could not be seen in the fire-window.

"I wouldn't have to shout, _Abby_, if you would hold the connection for any decent length of time," Mrs. Figg replied.

"Yes, well…" the head said dismissively. He opened his mouth, but before he continued he caught sight of Harry, Ron and Hermione who had edged closer to eavesdrop. "You have company," he accused sharply.

"Just Harry Potter and two of his friends," Mrs. Figg answered, waving her hand impatiently.

But knowing that Harry was Harry did not relax the man. Rather, he threw his piercing gaze over Mrs. Figg's shoulder, straight at Harry, who shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny.

"Right," said the man after a long moment and Harry was quite glad when the stare returned to Mrs. Figg. "Well, Ari, I just wanted to check in. I'll contact you again soon." And he was gone.

Mrs. Figg blinked. "That was odd," she muttered, struggling to her feet. Turning around, she found a dozen sets of eyes upon her. Harry, Ron and Hermione - in addition to some ten odd cats – were all looking at her curiously.

There was a moment of silence before Mrs. Figg offered, "Anyone up for a second pudding? There's still cake left." With that, she escaped to the kitchen for the next fifteen minutes.

It was nearly eleven by the time Uncle Vernon telephoned to say that Harry, Ron and Hermione could walk back. Mrs. Figg insisted on coming with them. "Anything could happen to you, this late at night, and I don't fancy having your deaths on my hands," she said, slipping on a bathrobe in lieu of a jacket. No one had the heart to remind her that if someone wanted them dead, there wasn't a whole that that she – being a Squib – could do about it.

The walk was pleasant, however, with nothing worse than a few bats and a stray cat to be seen. When they reached the Dursleys house, Mrs. Fig bid them goodbye. "Come over whenever the Muggles get to be too much, dears."

"Thanks," Harry smiled, "but we're leaving tomorrow."

Mrs. Figg, who had turned to walk back to her home spun around abruptly. "What was that?"

"I said –"

"I heard what you said you daft boy!" she interrupted, wringing her hands. "No, no, no. You can't leave tomorrow!"

She ushered Harry, Ron and Hermione up the driveway of Number Four. "No, Harry, you _must_ stay here." She ran her fingers though her hair, pulling at it nervously. "Oh, how long did he _say_? A week? Two? A week, at least!"

"How long did _who _say?" Hermione asked suspiciously.

"Dumbledore!" Mrs. Figg snapped. "You'll have to stay here a week, Harry, at the very least. Now, don't argue with me!" she added, correctly anticipating his next thought. "I know what these Muggles are like! I wouldn't be telling you not to leave if it didn't matter! Oh, what were they _thinking, _saying you could?"

She looked around suddenly. "You shouldn't be out here," she said, pushing them towards the door. "Go on! Inside! And don't even think of leaving until I've talked with you again!"

She waited until the three were safely through door before dashing down the street, her bathrobe flapping behind her.

"What was that about?" Hermione asked as soon as they had stepped inside. "Why can't you leave?"

"Something with the protective magic, I'd guess," Harry said, giving a half-truth. He was certain Mrs. Figg had been talking about the blood-magic wards, but didn't want to go into it. "We should probably listen to her, though. Whatever it is, it's got her pretty upset."

"Well," Ron sighed slumping against the wall as Harry bolted the door, "this should be fun."

"Yeah," Harry said. "Loads of fun." He turned and trudged up the stairs. "You two coming?"

"Don't you think you should do it now?" Hermione looked down the hall to where sounds of a late-night news program were coming from. "Get it out of the way?"

But Harry shook his head. "If we want to sleep tonight, I don't think that's the best idea," he replied.

Upstairs, after Hermione collected her trunk and her cat and left Harry's room for the guest room, Ron and Harry set up the threadbare blankets and flat, lumpy pillow on the floor. Harry offered his bed, but Ron refused.

"Nah." He shook his head. "It's your bed, and, no offense, but I reckon it's not all that better than the floor anyway."

Aunt Petunia woke them at eight the next morning. She had set out their breakfast and wanted them finished and the kitchen clean by eight-thirty sharp. Ron and Harry stumbled blearily downstairs and found Hermione sitting at the table – neither Uncle Vernon nor Aunt Petunia was anywhere in sight – scraping a bit of sugar-free, low calorie orange jam out of a near-empty jar for her toast.

Aunt Petunia must be excited to be rid of me, Harry thought, amused. She'd never given him jam before. Well, except for the time she'd tried to get him to eat some black currant jam to check if it had gone bad, but Harry preferred not to count that.

Dropping himself in a chair, Ron grabbed one of the slightly burnt pieces and shoved it into his mouth. " 'Er-mye-nee," he said around the toast, "'ow'll oo ge' oor 'aren's 'o le' oo s'ay 'ere?"

Hermione grimaced at Ron. "My parents are on holiday in Greece; they won't even be back until a week after school was supposed to end. So this works out fine – Ron," she slammed her knife down on the table, "will you _please_ keep your mouth closed when you eat? It's disgusting, really."

Ron paused mid-chew to stuff another bit of toast into his already too full mouth, then grinned messily at Hermione. Harry covered a smile by grabbing the glass in front of him and taking a sip of his watery orange juice.

TBC

Feedback is much appreciated.


	2. The End of the Beginning

Disclaimer: I neither own nor pretend to own Harry Potter.

A/N: Much thanks to my betas. Mithrilxmoon and PadfootzChick are fantastic, no question. Special thanks to irisgirl for not only betaing, but for her hours spent planning and plotting.

This is a POST-HBP fic - Spoilers abound.

- - - - - - - - -

"Clean up," Aunt Petunia barked, entering the kitchen.

Harry glanced at the digital clock above the stove. "You said eight-thirty. We've still got ten minutes."

"You're done. Clean up." She went to the edge of the table furthest from the trio and snatched away the nearest plate.

"Hey!" Ron shouted, swallowing. She had taken the toast. "I wasn't finished!"

Aunt Petunia didn't seem to care. She stared at Harry, her jaw clenched so tight that he was sure he could hear the sound of teeth splintering. "When are you leaving?"

"Er…"

Aunt Petunia dropped the toast – and the plate – into the garbage bin. "Why aren't you dressed?"

"Aunt Petunia," Harry began.

"Absolutely not!" she screeched, cutting him off. "I know what you are going to ask, you little ingrate, and the answer is no!"

"Aunt Petunia…"

"You horrid boy! Promising us that we'd be rid of you, only to get yourself in our home! I _never _should have let you come through the door! You said one night. One night!" She pointed a shaking finger at him. "After all you've put us through, after everything that's happened because of you…I should have known! I should have-"

"Aunt Petunia!" Harry roared.

Distracted from her tirade, Aunt Petunia shrieked, "How _dare_ you use that tone with me!"

"You need to listen," Harry said, his voice at a normal, if forced, volume. "We can't leave today."

"I _knew _it! You tricked us into letting you and those _freaks_," she gestured wildly at Ron and Hermione, "into our home and now you're never going to leave!"

"Why would I stay here if I didn't have to?" Harry shot back. "We _want _to leave! I said that we _can't _leave!"

Aunt Petunia's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, _can't_?"

Remembering the summer before his fifth year, Harry replied, "_Dumbledore _said that we can't leave yet. Said that we've got to stay here at least a week."

Ron opened his mouth, but Hermione gave him a swift kick under the table.

When Aunt Petunia didn't respond, Harry continued, "He also said something about a promise you-"

"Fine!" Aunt Petunia snarled. "One week!" And she ran from the room before Harry could say another word.

"Oi! Hermione, what's your problem?" Ron asked angrily as soon as Aunt Petunia was out of earshot. "What was that about, kicking me like that?"

"Harry was handling things perfectly well. He didn't need you voicing your thoughts and lousing it up."

"Lousing it…" Ron muttered. "What are you going onabout?"

"After Harry mentioned Dumbledore, right then. You opened your mouth-"

"Of course I opened my mouth, Hermione! I was going to drink some orange juice! It'd be kind of hard to do that with my mouth closed, don't you think?" He grabbed a slice of toast off her plate and ripped off a bite. "You know, sometimes I think you really _are_ mental."

Hermione, at least, had the decency to blush.

The next few days passed surprisingly quickly. Harry, Ron and Hermione had an unspoken agreement with Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon that they wouldn't talk to each other, look at each other, or even go near each other if it could be helped. Not that that was much different from Harry's previous summers.

Uncle Vernon took a week's worth of vacation time from Grunnings. He wanted to be home should Harry, Ron and Hermione get it in their heads to do anything…abnormal. Though what he planned to do should something _abnormal _occur was anybody's guess.

Mrs Figg showed up at the front door three days after she had ordered them to remain at the Dursleys', looking even more disheveled than normal. A few forgotten rollers were tangled in her hair and her knees were smudged with soot.

"I checked it," she said the moment Harry opened the door. "You only have to stay here seven days. Then you can go to Molly's house."

Harry nodded. He would – for a little while.

"Good. Now, dear, my plans have changed; it seems I won't be able to have you over this week. But you'll survive, I'm sure – you have for sixteen years. Get one of your friends to transfigure their teacups if they give you any trouble," she called, and, with a hasty wave, she hurried down the driveway and out into the street.

The next day, Dudley returned from Smeltings. Harry and Ron spent the entire morning plotting and planning pranks only to have their fun spoiled by Hermione. She reminded them, a bit haughtily in Harry and Ron's opinion, that there were quite a few laws against what they wanted to do. Not to mention, she said with a pointed look at the redhead, that Ron had _promised_ her he wouldn't use magic against the Muggles.

In the end, the two boys compromised: they wouldn't play any pranks on the Muggles as long as said Muggles didn't give them a reason to. Hermione agreed, but only because it seemed that Dudley, after a hushed conversation with his parents, had decided to spend most of his first week home at friends' houses and Harry's aunt and uncle were more or less ignoring them.

Harry's last day at Number Four finally came – not nearly soon enough in Harry's opinion - but because not even Hermione had thought to bring Floo powder, Mr. Weasley was going come get them. Harry had never unpacked and he didn't have anyone to say goodbye to, so there was only one thing he had to do before he left.

Leaving Ron in Hermione's room, Harry dragged himself downstairs to the living room, where his aunt and uncle were watching the midday news.

"Ron's dad will be here around six," Harry said from the doorway.

Uncle Vernon looked up over his bushy mustache. "How is he getting here?"

"Er. The fireplace," Harry replied, glancing at the powered off electric fire that blocked the hearth. "You might want to take that down for today."

Uncle Vernon's vein throbbed, but he didn't say 'no,' which was better than Harry had expected.

"There's one more thing," Harry said. He took a step into the room. "I need you to let me come back."

This time, Aunt Petunia whipped around. "This _again?_"

"I don't _want_ to come back-"

"You've said that before!" Aunt Petunia interrupted shrilly.

"-but I need to know that I can, if I have to."

Harry sighed. "Look. Just until my birthday – July thirty-first," he added with a trace of venom. "Then, I swear, you'll never see me again. You probably won't see me after I leave today, actually. I just need to hear you say that this can still be – that I can still live here if I need to."

"Boy-" Uncle Vernon began, but, at a sharp wave of Aunt Petunia's hand, he fell silent.

"Yes," she said bitterly. "You can come back if you need to. Now go away. Upstairs."

Harry did as he was told, before Aunt Petunia could change her mind.

At quarter after six, Harry, Ron and Hermione were talking in Harry's room when a piercing shriek rang through the air.

"Well," Ron said, standing up, "sounds like Dad's here."

Hermione and Ron levitated the trunks down the stairs, but Hermione made them stop the spell before Harry's aunt and uncle saw and had twin strokes. Instead, they dragged their trunks the rest of the way to the living room.

"Ron. Harry. Hermione," Mr. Weasley greeted them warmly when they stepped into the room. "All set?"

They pulled their trunks to the fireplace. Ron went first, grabbing a bit of Floo powder from Mr. Weasley's tin and throwing it into the magically enlarged hearth.

"The Burrow!"

Then Hermione stepped in with her trunk.

"The Burrow!"

Mr. Weasley held out the powder to Harry, but Harry hesitated. "Give me a second?"

Harry turned and walked towards his aunt and uncle, who had pressed themselves up against the far wall. Stopping before he reached them, Harry simply looked at them for a moment.

Maybe he had matured over the past year, or maybe (most likely) he was feeling generous because he would never have to see them again, but Harry did not hate them entirely. He had thought he did, but now, standing in front of them, he felt more pity than anything else.

And, even if he _did_ rant and scream about how awful they had been to him, it wouldn't make a difference. They wouldn't care and Harry would just be wasting his breath.

Harry sighed. "Goodbye."

Neither Uncle Vernon nor Aunt Petunia responded. But, then again, Harry hadn't expected them to.

"Right," Harry said, and walked back to Mr. Weasley.

Mr. Weasley smiled sadly as he offered the Floo powder box. "We had better get going, Harry. They're waiting for you."

"Thanks, Mr. Weasley," Harry said. He stepped into the fireplace and threw down the powder.

"The Burrow!"

Harry squeezed his eyes shut against the whirl of color and heat that accompanied traveling by Floo. The combination always made him a bit nauseous. But, mercifully, almost as soon as he had thrown down the powder, he was tumbling out the other end, into the Weasleys' living room.

Stumbling a bit, Harry pulled his trunk out of the fireplace and straightened his glasses. "Hey, Fred. Hey, George." He glanced around. "Didn't I come out your kitchen fire last time?"

"Mum's got a cauldron on that one," George replied, clapping him on the shoulder. "She didn't want you lot to Floo in and ruin her sauce."

Fred stepped up to slap Harry on his other shoulder. "Speaking of 'you lot,' George, where _did _the other two young ones run off to?"

With a positively wicked grin, George turned to Harry. "Hermione and ickle Ronnikins thought it might take you a bit of time to shake off the Muggles, so they took their stuff upstairs. They should be down in, say," he glanced at his naked wrist for effect, "half an hour."

To emphasize his point, George puckered and contorted his lips in a way that was almost grotesque. Making matters worse, Fred immediately joined in with the most awful _squelching_ noise Harry had ever heard.

Harry pulled a face. "That's disgusting," he said.

"Yes, we quite agree," Fred replied with a grimace of his own. "But, all thoughts on who Ronald might or might not be violating – at this very moment – aside, only seven days after the end of school and already you've graced us with your presence."

"The Muggles let you out on good behavior?" George joked.

"Not quite, but close enough," Harry said, grinning.

"Not quite, you say?" Fred tapped a finger to his chin thoughtfully. "I do hope the provisions we left in the hands of our dear brother were helpful in that matter."

Both twins were obviously eager learn just how _helpful _their inventions had been, but the sudden entrance of their mother and Fleur brought an abrupt end to the conversation.

"Hello, Harry, dear," Mrs. Weasley greeted as she levitated his trunk and sent it on its way upstairs. Beaming, she wrapped her arms around him. "It's _so _good to have you back."

"I've missed you too, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said, blushing when, in addition to tightening the hug, she planted a large kiss on his cheek.

"'Arry," Fleur exclaimed, swooping down upon him the moment Mrs. Weasley released her hold. "I am _so _'appy to see you!" She kissed him twice, once on each cheek, and Harry could feel whatever blood hadn't rushed to his face at Mrs. Weasley's affection being precipitated there by Fleur's.

"You do not know what a relief zis is, 'aving three more people 'ere to 'elp with zee preparations!" she said, clapping her hands together. "Zee wedding is in only three weeks and everyzing is falling apart!"

"Oh, come now," Mrs. Weasley said briskly. "Everythingis _not_ falling apart. I dare say we'll survive without fuchsia orchids scattered about. I, for one, don't understand why we didn't go with the gardenias in the first place. Lovely flowers."

"But we 'ave no one to marry us!" Fleur cried, Harry forgotten. "'Ow can you say everyzingis not falling apart when zere might not even _be _a wedding?"

Mrs. Weasley closed her eyes a moment. Harry got the impression that they had gone over this point quite a few times before. "Everything will be sorted out before the wedding. You will have someone to marry you. You will have a wedding. And you will have a very much deserved honeymoon."

Somehow, he didn't think Fleur would be the only one enjoying her trip to the continent.

Harry, not being married and never having attended a wedding, wasn't sure, but he thought securing an officiator would be the first thing he would do. That is, after proposing to the girl. And he said as much.

An uncomfortable silence followed the comment. Harry glanced from face to face, perplexed. "What's wrong?"

"Harry, dear," Mrs. Weasley said softly, "Professor Dumbledore had agreed to marry Bill and Fleur."

Something that Harry couldn't quite describe suddenly rolled under his skin at the headmaster's name (_former headmaster_, a vicious part of his mind reminded him). It felt like a snake had coiled itself around his chest and was slowly squeezing all his insides up, into his throat to choke him. Swallowing hard, he forced the ugly sensation back down.

"Oh," was all he could think to say.

Before the silence could drag on again, Fred stepped in to change the subject. "Mum, shouldn't Dad have come through the Floo by now?"

"I hope you're not holding off dinner until he gets back," George said, rubbing his stomach. "I fear I will faint from hunger as it is."

Mrs. Weasley sighed. "Your father had some business to attend to. He said not to wait for him and that he would be home as soon as he could." A moment later, she cleared her throat and straightened her apron with a sharp tug. "Look at me, standing about when there's a meal to be made. Fred, George, set up the tables outside, if you would. No sense in wasting such a lovely evening indoors. Fleur, I could use some help in the kitchen. Harry, why don't you go get settled. Dinner won't be for another twenty minutes."

There was a general murmur of agreement before the group went about their assigned tasks. Harry made his way up the abundance of stairs to Ron's room, where he found not just Ron and Hermione, but Ginny as well.

"Hi, Harry," Ginny said when he entered the room. She tucked her hair behind her ears with a quick pass of her hand and shifted her perch on Ron's bed, crossing her legs.

"Er, hi, Ginny." Harry's face felt strangely hot.

A beat passed. "How were the Muggles?"

"They were okay."

"Good."

Harry tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry. "Your mum said dinner would be ready in twenty minutes," he said quickly, feeling suddenly desperate to draw Ron and Hermione into the conversation.

Ron obliged him. "Fantastic! I haven't eaten properly since we left Hogwarts."

Ginny stood up. "I'd better go see if I can help." Walking up to Harry, who was still in the doorway, she stepped to her right, trying to squeeze past him, just as he stepped to his left to let her through on his right. Then, they both shifted to the opposite side.

Laughing nervously, Ginny held up a hand. "You stay." She moved again to her right, turned her body sideways, and slid between Harry and the doorframe, out of the room.

Harry waited for her footsteps to fade before he let out a long breath and closed the door behind her. "That was…"

"Awkward?" Hermione supplied.

"Yeah." Harry dropped himself down on the bed the Weasleys had set up for him. "Whatever I was expecting, it wasn't that."

"Seven days is a long time, Harry," Hermione said kindly. "I mean, you saw each other daily for months. Not to mention the recent changes in your relationship." She gave him a sympathetic smile. "I'm sure everything will be fine in a few days."

"I hope so," Harry replied.

Ron, looking thoroughly uncomfortable discussing his sister's _relationship _problems, (even if they were Harry's problems, too) asked, "Do you know if my Dad came home?"

Harry shook his head. "Your mum said he wouldn't be home until later. He had some work to do first."

"I thought so. Ginny was just telling us how she's only seen him maybe three or four times since school ended."

Harry creased his forehead. "Is there a problem at the Ministry?"

"No. The Order. When Dumbledore, er, you know, the entire thing started to fall apart. He had the final say on a lot of what went on, and now…" Ron shrugged.

Harry cringed. He hadn't really thought about the Order since Dumbledore was killed, but what Ron had said didn't really surprise him. Sure, some of the members may have disagreed with the way Dumbledore did things at times, but everyone respected him enough to do what they were asked anyway. There was no one else that Harry could think of who elicited that kind of trust; it was no wonder they were having problems. They had no leader.

"Death Eater activity is up." Hermione picked a copy of the Prophet up from her lap and scanned the front page. "Four killings in the past five days. Two Muggle, one Muggle-born, and one whose blood status they don't identify, so a half-blood. Hestia Jones." Hermione looked up. "Why does that name sound familiar?"

Harry's heartbeat pounded loudly in his ears. "She was in the Order," he murmured, a wave of cold splashing over him. "She was one of the ones who came to get me before fifth year."

His stomach wrenched and he swallowed hard against the burn of acid. He knew her. Not very well, but he could put a face to the name. And now she was dead. Murdered needlessly, like so many others. Madam Bones, Cedric…Sirius…Dumbledore…all dead. All gone.

"Harry?"

His head snapped up at the sound of Hermione's voice.

"Are you-"

"I'm fine," he said, a bit too quickly. "We should go downstairs."

Harry could feel Ron and Hermione's eyes boring into him as he walked through the hallway and down the steps, but they didn't say anything, and he was grateful.

The sun was still just visible over the horizon when Harry, Ron and Hermione stepped out in the yard. Tiny balls of fire danced merrily a few feet above their heads and crickets chirped from a prudent distance.

When everyone had taken their seats around the long, worn wooden table, Harry found himself at one end with Ron to his right and Bill across from him, with the foot of the table to his left.

"How are you doing?" Harry asked, passing Bill a bowl of diced potatoes.

"Pretty well, believe it or not."

Bill would never be physically handsome again; the scarring was too extensive and thick. The lobe of his left ear had been torn away, and little tufts of hair were just growing back in around the wounds that cut back into his hairline. His cheeks were pitted and pink with new skin. From the corner of his mouth to just above his jaw line there was a thick line of darkened tissue, making Harry wonder if Greyback hadn't tried to rip Bill's mouth from his face, with partial success.

But, for the most part, the wounds had closed over. The bandages were gone and Bill looked comfortable, which was what mattered most.

"The only real change has been in my appetite." Bill gestured to the mound of pink meat on his plate that Harry had consciously avoided looking at until then. He stuck his fork into it and laughed. "That, and I'll have to put my earring in the other ear from now on."

A bit more at ease with Bill's outlook on the situation, Harry asked, "You don't transform?"

"I'm not sure, actually," Bill said, taking a bite of his meat. "I just missed the last full moon, and the next isn't for a little over a week yet." He shrugged. "I'll just have to wait and see."

The meal continued smoothly with more than enough food and pleasant conversation to go around. When Harry was about midway through his first helping, the backdoor of the Burrow swung open, spilling light into the yard and outlining a dark silhouette.

"Molly?" a voice called. The door closed and footsteps crunched along the grass. Soon, Remus Lupin stepped into the flickering glow of the fireballs. "Sorry I'm late."

"Not at all, Remus," Mrs. Weasley said. "We've only just started. Do sit down."

Remus walked over to the far end of the table, conjuring a chair to place between Bill and Harry. He sat down and, after another quick spell, a plate, a glass and utensils popped into place before him.

After quietly inquiring as to Bill's health, Remus turned to Harry. "How are you?"

"I'm fine," Harry said, automatically. "How are you?"

"I've been better," Remus replied. His eyes were searching Harry. Harry shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny.

"Er, how's Tonks?"

"She's been better, as well."

"Oh." Harry fiddled with a cut piece of meat.

"Harry-"

"Have you set a date?" Harry blurted out, not liking the tone of Remus' voice.

"Set a date…" Remus repeated. "Set a date for what, exactly?"

"You and Tonks…"

"What? No!" Flushing a bit, Remus shook his head. "We're…seeing each other. Nothing more." He took a sip from his glass, waiting a moment for his cheeks to cool. "We need to talk."

"About what?" Harry asked tightly.

But Remus shook his head again. "It can wait until after dinner." Giving Harry a weak smile, Remus picked up a serving bowl in front of him and scooped a helping of green beans onto his plate.

Harry found he suddenly didn't have much of an appetite. There was really only one thing that Harry could imagine Remus would want to discuss and he _really _didn't want to talk about it. Not now.

Dessert was a very large slice of pound cake. Harry barely made a dent in it, and he knew that his eating habits did not go unnoticed by either Remus or Ron.

"Harry?" Remus laid a hand on his shoulder. "Are you finished?"

Harry sighed and pushed his plate away. "Yeah."

"Shall we go, then?"

Harry followed Remus across the lawn and through the house, into the living room. Two faded, overstuffed armchairs sat facing each other in front of the fireplace; Remus took one and gestured for Harry to sit in the other.

A flick of a wand, and a small fire sprung to life in the hearth, chasing away the slight chill of the night. "There," Remus said with a small smile, "much better."

Remus leaned back in the chair gingerly, as if the slight movement pained him.

Sitting forward, Harry asked, "Are you okay?"

Chuckling, Remus nodded. "I'm just a bit tired." He took the opportunity to lock gazes with Harry. "Are _you _okay?"

"I'm fine," Harry replied. Remus shot him a knowing look. Harry sighed. "I'm as fine as can be expected, I suppose. I mean, considering."

"Would you like to talk about it?" Remus asked kindly.

Harry hesitated. "No, not really. I'm doing okay with everything right now. I can't…" He sighed helplessly, not knowing how to say that talking about Dumbledore would be impossible. There were just too many feelings jumbled up inside him that he needed to sort through on his own before he could do it with someone else.

Remus understood. He reached over and put his hand on Harry's arm, giving an encouraging squeeze. "That's fine. But remember: if you ever want to talk, I'll listen."

Harry could only nod his thanks; a hard lump had risen in his throat at Remus' words. Being honest with himself, he doubted that he would ever take Remus up on his offer, but it was nice all the same.

Squeezing Harry's arm one final time, Remus released him and leaned back. "There's one more thing we need to talk about. I know Dumbledore told you that, among other things, Sirius left you a bit of property."

"Do you want it for the Order meetings? I mean," Harry added, trying not to let it show how eager was to be rid of the place, "you could have it. I wouldn't mind." He had no use for it and certainly did not _want_ it; better it be used for something than just sit there collecting massive amounts of dust. It wasn't like Harry had plans to go there. Ever again, actually.

"That is a generous offer, but no." Remus mouth quirked. "The Order is fine where it is, at the moment. And, more to the point, we couldn't use it even if we wanted to." He sat forward again. "You see, Harry, when Dumbledore died-"

_Was murdered,_ that nasty voice in Harry's mind whispered.

"-he was the property's Secret-Keeper. Normally, under Fidelius, if a Secret-Keeper were to die, then the secret he was keeping would cease to be kept. That is, the spell would be broken.

"This instance, however, does not appear to follow that general rule. Dumbledore is gone, so the spell should have been nullified. But it hasn't. Instead, it has become much stronger, refusing to allow even those who knew the secret when Dumbledore was alive to pass through." Remus smiled ruefully. "I can't even say what type of property it is, never mind where it is located."

Curious, Harry tried to say it himself, only to find the words impossibly stuck to the tip of his tongue. "I can't either."

"I'm sorry, Harry. I know how much Sirius meant to you," Remus' voice was filled with so much sympathy and understanding that Harry felt a bit bad not really regretting the loss of his inheritance. "We'll keep trying to find a way around the spell, but I'm not sure that there is one."

A guilty flush rose into Harry's cheeks as a part of him whooped for joy.


End file.
